This is an excerpt from the introduction of Stretched: A Study for Lent and the Entire Christian Life by Christopher Richmann (1517 Publishing, 2026).
We can bring our troubles, griefs, sorrows, and sins to Jesus, who meets us smack dab in the middle of our messy mob.
Confession isn’t a detour in the liturgy. It’s the doorway.

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We want to know how God rules this world, how he is present in all things, how he exerts his control over the course of world events. We want to know why some get cancer and some don’t, why terrible things happen to the best of people, why volcanoes erupt and hurricanes strike and fires consume.
When we explain away God’s Word, we jettison the reality of our ominous diagnosis in the “Thou shall/shall nots” of the law, and with it the sweet cure in the, “This is My body/blood” of the Gospel.
One thing is for certain: my day was heaven compared to his. My minor headaches nothing compared to whatever he was going through.
We can leave all the stuff of life behind, because our great treasure God flaunts before the world on Calvary.
The Christian faith makes a bold claim: We are the world's problem, but we are not the world's solution.
We treat the Scriptures as if they’re our literary property to toy with as we please.
Being a Christian is hard because it’s easy.
There is no pain like the pain of being mistreated by those who, above all others, you expect to love you unconditionally.
I have my list. It may seem strange to you, but, when I think about my own death, I often think in terms of positive failures.
Either one of those verses alone is scary; but both of them together are terrifying!
As the story unfolds we see Luther’s Heidelberg theses on display, even before the Fellowship leaves Rivendell.
At our churches must remain focused on the deep kick, the real deal, the thing itself. I’m not the first on this site to remind us that this is Christ himself.